Mirrored Glass
by 13Secrets
Summary: She finally got out... of herself. WIP, 7th Year, Head Boy/Girl Fic


Alright, there will be some confusion towards the middle of this chapter as the tenses are constantly changing. I couldn't do a flashback, so I had to use "past perfect progressive"...

There are a few sentences here that I also couldn't make any more simple...

This is unbetaed, but I have proofread this multiple times!

Please Review! Even a 'hi' or a 'lalalalala' would be good.

And here we are:

Mirrored Glass: Reflections

It had to be past midnight by now. There was a striking wind that swiftly pierced the pores of all who dared be out so late. Despite the chill in the air, the salty bite that stung the nostrils and mouth, the sky was fairly clear. Moonlight shined brightly, illuminating the patches of frosted grass not yet blanketed in heavy snow.

The blades were still; not blowing with the ripples that usually irritated them, but stiff. As stiff as the witch's back who just came to a stop at the edge of the Black Lake.

Her face shook, jerking sporadically in not only coldness, but in the desperate confusion of not knowing what had just happened and how to reverse time to correct her most recent mistakes.

She began to moan, pushing out the sound as softly as she could at first. She could barely hear it though. Adding strength to the noise, pushing up from her belly and forcing air through her teeth, the sound grew more audible.

Maybe this would help her, help her dispel the sharpness of the reality she had just left. Her head hurt, though her mind was numb. A few hours prior this still would not have made sense, but it also would not have occurred. She didn't really understand how her body ignored her mind…but he had done it just the way she wanted, or well…someone wanted. And made her feel things she had never experienced before, not even by her own hand. Not even by her own boyfriend.

Ron Weasley had never been one to care about things extensively, or consider her body and her needs when they divulged in the most powerful way to express their love for each other. Powerful in the weak way, expression in the awkward silence most often found when neither person had anything to say. She figured he knew that they were simply expected to be together. She figured he knew she knew that easy fact as well. They had both put that puzzle together long ago. But after that first meal as a couple, and all of those sly grins and sure smiles, they knew they were stuck. And if anyone was expected to be faithful, it was she.

Simple, sweet, book-laden Granger. And when Harry and Ron would return, Hermione would be there waiting for them at Hogwarts, just like every time they'd come back. And upon that return, Harry would go straight to Ginny and Ron would make his way next to Hermione and raise his eyebrows. _Tonight, your room_ they would say, and with a nod he would kiss her strategically as expected, rub her back in the same three circles he regularly traced, then rushed into eating. Hermione never even nodded, never even agreed, but just went along with it. He would arrive at the Head dorms, quickly entering the heated mood that he found so easily after such a long search for horcruxes and solutions to their war problems. Perhaps it was because of that small little accomplishment that he went about it without even so much as a glance at her eyes. Her down-put eyelids, maybe, or a quick glance at her cheeks. They were always pale. At first, she thought he'd care enough to ask her what was wrong. After the third time she ignored that hope.

She hated him now, silently. For taking the easy way out. For forgetting to care, or wonder how she was. For never being even slightly verbally curious as to why she never smiled up at him while he weaseled his way in and out of her center. It didn't even feel like her center, more like some extra area that didn't count, and just existed on the side. An area with hardly any feeling at all, certainly not pleasure, that he managed to locate.

She could barely stand him inside her, knowing that she might as well be a third-year Slytherin. So long as she had some version of breasts and a vagina. Maybe not even the upper assets, just a moist enough cunt for entry and release. No use making him work for it.

But tonight she hadn't cared about him and thought only for herself. She'd been hearing, more like listening to the pleasures her Head Boy brought to whichever lucky girl he'd pulled up to his dormitories each night for the entire year. Not so much before Christmastime though, for some reason or another. But now, she knew he purposely Sonorused the sounds they made to volumes that pressed through the stone walls and eased under the cracks of the bathroom door. Every gasp, every moan, every single shrill scream that erupted from those girls' throats…

_He must be killing them from the inside_ she had thought, shortly before the first return of Ron, and after her own first time. Which had been dull, plain, and only a smidgen painful. She hadn't expected it to be so easy and uneventful. But she certainly never expected it to be whatever devious things Satan had whispered into Draco Malfoy's ear to commit on those girls. Never a Hufflepuff, but always a screamer.

She had noticed though, that whenever Ron showed up, Draco either didn't take a partner that night, or had decided to ward sound from escaping his room. Maybe he'd try to listen to her, find out if she had any private scream that he could compare with the others he had created. Still, she hadn't even known what that scream was herself, until tonight.

Literally, though, Hermione could almost tell who Malfoy had brought to bed just by those climactic shrieks close to midnight. If she had left dinner early to get to the library before Madam Pince closed up, and missed his usual walk over to one of the two other tables if he didn't remain at his own. She supposed he liked them smart and witty since he frequented the Ravenclaws. But he had still had a bit of an odd streak by braving the Gryffindors. Hermione sensed that he might just like playing with them, because they weren't particularly loud. Even though they were predisposed as intellectually and confrontationally proud and confident, sexually they were afraid and squeamish. Well, for the most part. And it seemed that he kept away from most Slytherin girls. She supposed it was because they were all so slutty, all so easy. The truth was that they were all after that title of Mistress Malfoy. Or they had been already paired with one of his cohorts and were off limits.

Specifically Pansy Parkinson, had the most piercing release of them all. Repetitive too. _Ooooh, eee, oh, ee, eeeek! AhhhheeeEEEEK!_ It seemed like he was trying to get her to do something besides come over and over again and voice when she had done so.

Unlike every other year, she had not been up before dawn and in the Great Hall before everyone else's arrival. She'd seen the changes in almost all of the boys by fourth year, watching them enter lazily, or excitedly, or grinning sheepishly, or moaning in slight discomfort as they indiscreetly adjusted their morning hard-ons. Even then her eyes wandered to the tables of other houses. Thinking back, she'd never remembered the blondest wizard entering without the standard smirk and wink to whichever girl he'd had that night. Even then. At fourteen.

Most recently, Hermione had been up late, listening or sometimes attempting to sleep. She wasn't up early enough to see the entrances of any of the, well men now. Not even early enough to grab a muffin before the days' first lesson most of the time. She imagined Malfoy would still carry that satisfied look on his face in the mornings now that he had in the those when she wasn't living with him.

Hermione Granger became one of those girls just a few hours ago. She was tired of waiting around, sick of appeasing Ron, and sick and tired of hearing the joys of Malfoy's spoils. She'd sat in the Head Common Room, awaiting his probably noisy arrival with whoever gave themselves to him this evening. Really, she'd only wanted to discuss one of the prefects' duties, planning on suggesting they switch the upcoming ball to a later date, closer to Graduation. Then, maybe the boys would have a last chance at making it to a dance.

That's all she had been expecting, really.

Then she'd heard it. That laugh.

The portrait had shut, Malfoy sauntering in in such a dauntless manner only he could produce. It seemed he would parade into the bathroom as if he owned it just for practice.

Then the laugh quieted, followed by a faint _Shh, shhh_. Malfoy didn't whisper that soft command. He was already in the room. It'd sounded like that girl was completely sloshed, shushing herself and taking her time to go through such a short corridor between the portrait and the entryway to the largest area of the Head dormitories.

She could have sworn Malfoy had winked at her before the newest gift to his bed attempted to sneak in, sliding along the inner wall, conceivably her schoolbag dragging and resounding noisily, clueing Hermione into her foolish drunken tactics.

A wisp, a lock, and then an entire head of red hair. Ginny Weasley had come with Draco to do…that, with him, behind Harry Potter's back.

_Bloody Harry Potter…_

Hermione couldn't believe it at first, but then she could. It had been nearly a month and a half since Harry had been back, or even contacted them. Ginny had to be lonely by now. But nobody would cheat …

How could anybody even slightly consider leaving a hero for this…villain?

Before she'd realized it, before the redhead even fully cleared her vision to take in the expansive room she had never, to Hermione's knowledge, been in before, she'd wandlessly and wordlessly petrified the youngest Weasley.

"Hermione…I'm sorry, I just…" Ginny's senses appeared to have come back momentarily as the brunette stood and approached her. Hermione had ignored Draco, ignored everything, except the rigid girl before her.

"You just thought you could do this to Harry, and get away with it?" she said when she finally caught her breath.

"I need it, Hermione, I—"

"Need? Need to go behind the love of your life's back?

"I need what Harry still hasn't given me. And everyone knows Malfoy gives them out like insults." Ginny's words had become even more slurred than under most circumstances would not have been understandable to Hermione. But perhaps it was her stiffened state that made her sound clearer.

A look of unbelief plastered on to Hermione's face. "Some short term sexual release? That's what this is about? You are planning on sleeping with Malfoy, for…no, there is no explanation for this."

Hermione had had to come up with something that didn't sound ridiculous, cause the truth was that she understood completely what Ginny was going through. She just wanted a taste of what Hermione heard nearly every night And now was the time to do it, with no Ron, no Harry, and it was almost justifiable. In Hermione's case, anyways.

They were best friends, her and Ginny. They had shared the lies that they'd created about their perfect relationships. They'd completely avoided sex as a topic since Harry was like a brother to Hermione and Ron was an actual brother to Ginny. But they had shared their makeshift dreams of training and work, marriage and children. They ate together everyday, gossiped about everyone else… Almost particularly mentioning the blond Slytherin every time.

_This was hypocritical_, she had thought. Hermione knew that they had both been jealous of all the girls that had been granted a night with Malfoy, and spoke loudly and proudly about it. Although, on rare occasion someone would mention Blaise Zabini. He was definitely more reserved though.

A slight glint of competition had glinted in Hermione's eyes. It faded as quickly as it had shone, widely avoiding Ginny's blue-eyed gaze.

She'd had the upper hand and released the hold on the younger witch. "You don't know what you're doing." Hermione had stated plainly, bringing her face up close enough to smell the almost putrid breath of her friend. In a blink she'd stupefied her, and sent her off with a smile and a promise to go to Hogsmeade for shopping the following day.

"What was _that_ Granger? You just sent her on her merry way, when you began look as if you'd curse off her hair just for being red." Draco was clearly unamused despite the fact that his words hinted that he was.

"She didn't know what she would be getting herself into…" Hermione trailed off, letting her eyes wander back to the books she'd left lying on the nearest couch. She couldn't possibly continue that essay after such a spectacle.

"And you do?" Draco'd asked before adding, "Know what she would be doing?"

"She would hurt Harry." And she'd win. If she thought on it, Hermione would realize she'd wanted to have a go at the Slytherin Prince herself for a long time, and if given the chance, she'd be happy to be Draco's entertainment for once. But that was a naughty idea, one that she hadn't even let sneak into her mind during the most intimate times she had alone.

Draco managed to corner her, in the middle of the room, and backed her up against the invisible barrier to what had just happened with Ginny only moments before.

"But I know you wouldn't care much if you hurt your Weasel."

Maybe it really had been a long time because distantly Hermione could feel her inner self consenting to things that probably wouldn't even happen, and if they did, wouldn't happen for a while.

She was far too plain for him, and closest to him as a coworker than anything else. But Ginny was plain too.

"No, no I wouldn't care much at all." The real Hermione had left apparently. The reserved, smart, and all-but-betrothed girlfriend of an almost war hero had caught a Muggle plane to some vacation destination in Thailand, apparently. This Granger was giving in to a desire she consciously didn't know she had.

It seemed to please Draco. As if knowing that there was an ongoing federal search for the real Head Girl, he not so suavely ushered her down the opposing corridor to the dormitories, to his dormitory. She had never been in there before.

And for once, Hermione Granger had been the one making the noise. After the hardest first kiss she had ever endured, literally pressing her lips into her teeth forcefully before a battle of tongues that rivaled those of knives and swords and bullets and fists, and words that they both regularly shared in. After all of this, which lasted mere seconds before robes were ripped, clothes were torn, and her undergarments were quickly disposed of, Malfoy had thrown her onto the bed. It was as if pent up frustrations were bursting from his seams. He was hurting her, she didn't care. He was leaving bruises down her arms, she liked it. She could feel it.

Like she could feel that her bottom lip had split, and the blood had trickled to her chin. But she could taste the adrenaline running through her body, as he ran his own over hers, rubbing the strongest part of himself over her heat with a free hand. The other was buried in her hair.

"Finally," he'd murmured into her mouth, sliding down her form until his mouth found her dampened curls. And he used his lips, and his tongue, to suck on her pussy until he was gifted with the sweetest juices… She moaned lenghthily, she didn't scream, not yet. He would need to do more to open her most secret reactions. The real Hermione wouldn't need more, she actually would have fainted at the first pressure of his tongue.

Grey eyes had stared up at her, surprised yet unfazed. "Who are you, and what have you done with the Mudblood Princess we all despise?"

She smiled, then replied "She must not be in right now." Eyes gleaming she continued, "Try again, I know you want to hear it." Who would say these things? Who could possibly manage to play for more after what had just happened? Giving more to a virtual stranger than to her own boyfriend. Steering her best friend away from the enemy only to give in to him herself.

None of this was right, it was wrong, and she had to be punished. _It_ had to be punished for getting the real Hermione into such strife. But this other version, pseudonym of herself already had an idea of what that punishment had to be, unconventional as it were.

"Make it hurt," she'd whispered to him as he slowly penetrated her, stretching her walls splittingly. It burned. It was painful, making the ache of her bruises fade to the back of her mind. This pressure, this filling took so much from her that she thought she'd never feel peace again. _Ugh…_ Her voice weakly came through.

And then the briefest moment of only pressure, only stretching her apart before he pulled back swiftly and pushed to the hilt again, wringing that cry from her they both wanted to hear. But it was a pained, frightened shriek.

It had felt like a stabbing of her internal organs, and then again, and again. It was hot, it burned like flames were tearing at her from within. And he didn't stop, wouldn't stop. But she never asked him to. She could almost hear the logical voice inside her yelling out, questioning why someone would want this, how anyone could stand the pain. This wasn't her first time, but it might as well have been.

He slowed. She was crying visibly, sobbing loudly, tears flowing freely into her hair, onto the pillow beneath her head. His face lowered, hovered above her own, his eyes finding hers. He raised an eyebrow at her when she could finally take a breath without choking on it. Then he sped up and somewhere within the wounds formed deep in her core, she'd found her center. He'd found it, and in a wide and broad wave her sobs became moans, and those moans birthed groans.

She groaned now, recalling those sounds she'd made, and trying to fight the cold threatening to overtake her. Her reflection looked up at her from the top layer of the frozen lake, taking life from the unfathomable warmth below.

Hermione Granger had returned, she'd come back and she knew exactly what had happened. She saw her puffy eyes in her reflection, stress lines prominent. Her hair was tousled, blowing about awkwardly, though it usually did when out in the wind. The blood had dried on her face. When she had woken up after that mind robbing release, it only seemed appropriate to leave promptly, as all the others had.

And what a release it was, her shouts eventually rendering her breathless as she came a third time. Only a keening whimper made its way through towards the end. She'd felt it all over, in her heat all the way to her toes in currents. The pressure was too much to handle, but he knew how to wield it after obeying her initial request. And it was overwhelming to her, someone who had only experienced what might have been a twig in comparison to this…heavenly gift bestowed upon the lucky Slytherin. But this would be and had been overwhelming to anyone who'd ever graced his bed, or his wall as she'd often heard. Sometimes Malfoy even took his women in the shower. Hermione wanted to try that. Hear herself echo off the walls in the throes, hands grasping, back slipping—

She didn't want that. What she wanted was the knowledge that this was all a lie. That she was in bed, struggling to fall asleep, forgoing once again the battling _silencio_ that would have countered the wanton racket from the other dormitory.

"You shouldn't have left."

Hermione wasn't sure she had actually heard his voice, and turned her head to see the platinum framed face that had recently loomed directly over hers in its own pleasure driven contortions.

"I can't do that," she spoke quickly. Instead of wondering how he had suddenly appeared behind her. And why he had risen from a warm bed, to find her out in the freezing air.

He muttered a warming charm, a large bubble of heat surrounding them both. "Yes you can, a part of you wants to."

She wouldn't deny that. At least, not the vixen who was seeping through her pores. This one would want nothing more than to welcome the invitation of someone who had given her so much more than she could have imagined.

And when he began to rub her shoulders, the transition was complete and she let him touch her unabashedly. His hands roamed down her sides, gracing her breasts, then his arms wrapped around her. His hand had somehow made it into her cloak.

She closed her eyes, her reflection doing the same. Then he slid his fingers through her robe, then under the hem of her skirt. "My come is nearly frozen to your leg." There was a laugh in his comment.

"I've felt it, believe me," she remarked. "That's not all that's there."

"You asked for it." She knew that. She also was certain that this wasn't really Draco Malfoy. He wouldn't really care about the soil stuck to her thigh and currently still oozing from her twat. He wouldn't really give the slightest glance to see if she was alright after such a wild display on her part. Insane it was, that there had been tears, pain, and blood. Yelling, shouting even.

"Just stay with me tonight," Draco requested softly. "We both know that this won't ever happen again."

"I know." What she currently did not know, was how tomorrow could still come, after her world had just twisted upside down.


End file.
